Giving Thanks
by Luddite at heart
Summary: Murdock invites some unusual guests for Thanksgiving.  Just a little holiday madness!


(This is a slash story, boys and girls! If men smoochin' men isn't your thing, head back now! Oh, and the Team is not mine; no money made.)

"Ggubble, gggubble."

Face's head jerked up at the half-heard noise, and he blinked muzzily at nothing in particular for a moment. "Whazit?" he asked the room at large. He wasn't awake enough to expect an answer, but a low rumble, like the first warning of a dormant volcano, came from his left. "B'ttrr nhhtt…" and Face really didn't feel qualified to translate that into English right now, but the irritable meaning was clear enough.

Slowly, he looked around the room, trying to orient himself in time and space. Small bedroom, badly decorated in Early Sears Clearance, filled with cold grey light that told him more than he wanted to know about the time. He was cocooned in a queen size bed, next to a king size man, warm and safe in a tiny house in the country-side. A bland house among scattered farms in late November, and he could feel his eyes sliding shut under the weight of a long night and a quiet house. Nothing to worry about; it was just an odd little dream. He settled back into his bed mate, feeling the solid weight of a well-muscled arm drape across his back, anchoring him to the sheets. Face sighed, perfectly content; Bosco may have taken up most of the mattress, but that was a small price to pay for such reassurance. Just a couple of more hours of sleep….

"Ggubble, ggubble."

Face was sitting up, facing the bedroom door before he was even aware of his own movement. Because 1) the sound was real, 2) it wasn't human, and 3) it was coming from out in the hall. "What…?" he muttered, and glanced at his team mate, needing a witness. B.A.'s dark eyes were indeed open, glaring furiously at the innocent ceiling. "I don't want t' know," he growled defiantly.

The lieutenant reluctantly leveraged himself off B.A.'s broad chest (and Murdock may have had a thing for the corporal's clever hands, but Face couldn't get enough of that endless expanse of smooth, chocolate skin) and quickly fumbled on the floor for something to wear. He certainly didn't mind roaming around the house naked (a habit that made Murdock giggle and Hannibal roll his eyes), but if he was going to face a Whateveritis loose in the house he wanted the armor provided by Calvin Klein.

He quickly pulled up his lounge pants, padded silently toward the door, and ran indecisive hands through his hair, trying to wrestle his brain into submission. Because, the possibilities…. A quick glance at the clock, and, shit, 0442? Really? Much too early for hand-to-hand. He grabbed his Glock off the dresser and eased open the door, peeking out cautiously to see… nothing. Dark, empty hall, filled with early morning silence. Huh. Count to ten, just to make sure, and slowly poke his head out, to take in the rest of the hall. More nothing.

It was tempting to just go back to bed and pretend Mystery Noise had never happened, and let any potential problems resolve themselves. But, an annoying sense of responsibility began gnawing at the front of his mind. A quick peek in the bedroom across the hall, then, just to make sure Hannibal was secure, and a certain pilot was in bed where he belonged. Face started to tiptoe out, instinctively unwilling to give away his position to any invisible listeners, when B.A. exploded from the bed behind him with a frustrated snarl. So much for stealth.

"One damn thing after another!" the corporal grumbled, snatching up his own sleep shorts. "That Fool better not be doin' somthin' I gotta pound him for." Face's automatic defense of his best friend hung it's head and slunk away under the cold glare of past evidence. Because, yeah, Murdock and strange noises…

B.A. stomped out past Face, crossed the pitifully short hallway, and threw back the other bedroom door. Without knocking. If he'd been a little more awake, Bosco would have realized this was a bad idea. Face got one quick look over B.A.'s broad shoulder of Hannibal, turning toward the invaders, weapon already in hand. "Hannibal! It's us!" he shouted, and the colonel froze in mid-aim. Thank God.

For a long moment, the three men blinked at each other, realizing just how close they had come to early morning first aid. And, it was just three of them, Face thought with a very familiar sinking feeling; the other half of Hannibal's bed was woefully empty.

"Shit," B.A. muttered, running an agitated hand across his Mohawk, suddenly subdued. "Shit, man. I'm sorry." Hannibal let his breath out in a tightly controlled sigh. "Gentlemen," he began, laying his 1911 carefully back on the night stand, "while I admire your enthusiasm to continue where we left off last night, I think I speak for both of us…" He turned to include his bed mate, and found, unfortunately, he was only speaking for one of them.

"We heard something," Face told him quickly, with a wide, apologetic smile. What he was apologizing for he wasn't sure just yet, but the fact his best friend was missing, and the faint scent of chaos in the air, had Face automatically entering 'deflect and redirect' mode. Time to find his most conciliatory expression; he was sure he would need it soon.

"What did you hear?" Hannibal sounded a bit distracted, understandably, as his formidable imagination began to assault him with possible locations and activities for his lunatic pilot. Kicked out of a sound sleep, silver hair sticking up in every direction, Colonel Smith was still a force to be reckoned with.

Face opened his mouth to describe the strange sound…

"ggubble, ggubble."

and, closed it again with a snap. It was inevitable, really.

Hannibal's sharp eyes suddenly heated to a laser-like focus, drilling Face where he stood, as the noise drifted up from downstairs. "Is that what I think it is, lieutenant?" he asked with formidable calm.

Face's cheeks were too well trained in The Smile to ache so quickly into a con, but it was a near thing. "I'm not sure, colonel. What do you think it is?" Deflect! Deflect!

With a wordless shout, B.A. turned and charged for the stairs, Face racing right behind him. If the Big Guy caught Murdock in mid-shenanigans, Face felt he needed to be on scene to minimize the fall-out. Hannibal, good Boy Scout that he was, had already been wearing his sleep pants, and was able to follow in quick order.

Bosco thundered down to the bottom of the stairs, and stopped short, causing the expected confusion and flailing limbs behind him.

"Oof!"

"Damn it!"

"Where?" B.A. yelled, swinging his head wildly from side to side.

"Gggubble, gggubble!" came the taunting answer from the kitchen.

B.A. barreled through the living room, the other two hot on his heels, and came to a screeching halt in the kitchen. The officers were prepared this time, and managed to dodge around the corporal in a well coordinated move that should have impressed the hell out of any enemies. But, there were no bad guys in the clean, well-lit room; just their favorite pilot leaning against a counter and trying his best to look casual.

"Good morning, gents!" Murdock chirped, beaming, their own personal sunrise in flannel Star Trek pants and a faded t-shirt. ('Non-flammable? Challenge accepted' read the shirt-du-jour, to Face's dismay). And, his bright smile and easy greeting might have diverted the suspicion falling on his head, if he hadn't been so obviously flushed and wild eyed. "You're just in time! The coffee's done, and you can put in your breakfast orders while I produce some produce, 'cause I thought maybe I'd make veggie omelets and waffles and hash browns and biscuits with mushroom gravy and baked apples and blueberry crepes and-"

"Captain!" That was Hannibal, throwing up a dam to stop the overflow of words. Face could see Murdock decide he probably didn't appear sufficiently nonchalant at his current angle, and shifted to his other hip. As Murdock rearranged himself against the counter, Face took recon of the kitchen; or 'Rooster Central' as Murdock had named it, inspired by the unfortunate Kountry Kozy decor. (The captain had decided for unknown reasons, that all the rooms in the little farm house needed code names; the bedrooms were now referred to as 'Nookie Base One' and 'Nookie Base Two').

Nothing out of the ordinary ordinary presented itself to Face's quick eyes in the clean, quiet kitchen; just three half-naked, fugitive ex-Rangers, confronting a crazy pilot about possible pre-dawn poltergeists in rural Pennsylvania. Yup, perfectly normal. SSDD, baby.

The colonel began the interrogation carefully, mindful of Murdock's recent twitchy behavior. Holidays were hard on all of them, and coping methods varied widely according to mood and personality. Murdock had been cooking almost non-stop for two days, preparing for the Thanksgiving feast tomorrow with enough food to fill a mess hall. What they were going to do with all this food when it was time to go, Face had no idea. Giant coolers in the back of the van? Well, maybe Hannibal had already come up with a Plan.

Face dragged himself away from terrible visions of month-old leftovers, and back to Hannibal's soothing voice. "It's a little early for breakfast, don't you think, captain?"

"Too early for any damn thing," B.A. muttered from the peanut gallery.

"Oh, I've been up for hours!" Murdock returned brightly, and judging from the smudges under his eyes Face could well believe it. Insomnia struck all of them at one time or another; memory and worry could whisper very clearly in the deepest hours of the night. And, the voices in Murdock's head were always a little louder than other people's. Well, they would just have to make more of an effort to wear out their pilot at bedtime. Face immediately thought of several different ways…

"Can't sleep when the sun is shining, 'specially in the middle of the night." Murdock's eyes darted here, there and everywhere, searching for inspiration, as he laughed nervously. And, Face felt once again that there was an inverse ratio, or some weird higher math happening between himself and his best friend; the higher pitched Murdock's giggle, the lower Face's stomach sank in dread. "The Walrus wanted to talk to the oysters 'bout bread and butter, and he talks so loud I could hear him on the other side of the dunes…. so, I decided to get up and out! Early to bed and early to rise! Can't let the grass grow under my feet! After all, the early worm gets the bird!"

Face raised his hand to rub away the incipient headache, remembered he was still holding his Glock, and quickly lowered it again. Despite B.A.'s complaints about Murdock's babbling, Face knew there was always a germ of reality even in the pilot's most puzzling statements, if a person had the patience to listen the right way. So, Face mentally opened his 'Murdock to Mundane' dictionary… and decided his worst imaginings weren't ambitious enough. This one was going to be bad.

"Fool, you ain't a worm!" B.A. snapped, and Face had to bite his lip to hold back a bray of hysterical laughter. Obviously, the Big Guy still wasn't quite awake. "What did you do?" B.A. was always refreshingly direct.

Murdock's eyes became luminous pools of frantic innocence. "Do? Why, I did lots of things! I can believe ten impossible things before breakfast, you know!" He started shuffling random objects on the counter beside him. The half-n-half carton and sugar bowl do-si-doed with the salt and pepper shakers as he plowed on. "I brushed my teeth, and read a book, and took Billy for a long walk, and made some new friends, and sang a little Led Zepplin, and made coffee with cinnamon like you guys like, and-"

"Friends?" Face blurted, and Murdock turned tragic eyes on him. (Et tu, Faceman?) "I mean," he reversed quickly under a thick silence, "we're such good *friends*, and that's why you make coffee with cinnamon! Thanks, buddy!" Not a great save, but he was never at his best before dawn.

"I don't care about none of that stuff," B.A. growled, sticking to the original problem against all distractions. "What the hell was that weird-ass noise?"

"Noise?"

And, like a harbinger of Doom…

"Ggubble, ggubble."

Face coughed as loudly as he could, which was not suave, and maybe kinda suspicious, but the best he could do under questionable circumstances. "I'm okay," he rasped, "just need a little water." No one looked at him.

"Would you like some coffee, colonel?" Give Murdock points for sheer determination; he was holding onto his desperate smile with both hands in the face of disaster.

"That came from the garage," B.A. stated ominously.

And, Hannibal (bless the man!), took a deep breath and channeled a Zen like calm. "Yes I would, captain, thank you."

Murdock turned his back on the imminent eruption of Mt. Saint Bosco to rummage noisily in a cabinet and take a moment to compose himself. As he filled his hands with mugs and spoons, he complained loudly and indignantly about the Walrus' hypocrisy in expressing sympathy for the fate of the oysters after purposely leading them astray. "He ate the most, too! While wipin' off his crocodile tears! If a walrus can have crocodile tears…"

His voice rolled on, but if he was hoping to mask the gurgles and coos drifting from the direction of the mud room, he would need to drop a few of those cups and maybe a frying pan or two. Face couldn't stop his helpless glance at the garage door; it was as if the first mutter had been some sort of signal and now a steady stream of sound filled the tiny kitchen.

"One lump, or two, colonel?" The British accent now, and if they were headed for a tea party, Face definitely wanted a clean cup. Hannibal inclined his head politely. "I think one is all I can handle right now, captain."

"There is something in the garage," B.A. stated with grim intent, glaring at them impartially. Face resisted the urge to slide a few inches away from the bigger man; in just a minute B.A. was going to realize there was more than one 'something' in the garage.

"I'll take one, as well, buddy," Face said quickly. He could almost see the iceberg lumbering toward them…

Murdock dealt out mugs with the skill of a riverboat gambler, even risking his health and well-being to hand one to B.A. It was mostly milk, just the way the corporal liked, but B.A. didn't seem to appreciate the effort. He showed admirable focus, never taking his dark eyes off his target, as he waited; whether for a crack in the armor or a reasonable explanation, Face didn't know. Neither would be coming soon, he thought. The lieutenant looked at Hannibal, hoping for an intervention, but the colonel merely sipped his coffee, still wearing that expression of mild courtesy. Interested to see how his captain would extract himself from the self-dug pit.

"There's lots of things in the garage!" Murdock finally realized all his exits had been neatly blocked, and so decided to go on the offensive. Face just hoped he wasn't going to recite the full contents of the garage. Their hosts (and, Face always preferred to think of the owners of their various safe houses as 'hosts'; it sounded so much nicer than 'victims of a scam') apparently wanted to be Hoarders when they grew up. The two car space was stuffed with boxes and bags and piles of more… stuff. There was barely any room left for…

Oh.

A particularly loud squawk from behind the door couldn't completely drown out the warning crack from a coffee mug clenched in one dark fist. "My VAN is in the garage." And, Face mentally started the countdown until impact.

Murdock's smile quivered a bit as he stepped into the No-Man's-Land that existed between B.A. and his Girl. "Don't worry about her, Big Guy! Baby and I had a nice long chat this morning, and she seemed eager to receive visitors, so-"

B.A. slammed his mug onto the counter and shot out of the kitchen into the mud room. He wrenched open the door, dove into the garage, and…

Face gazed at his colonel with open admiration; only Hannibal Smith could keep such a steady hand at the outraged bellow that echoed down the hall. Drinking hot, hot coffee and not spilling a drop while B.A…. well, from anyone else Face would have called that a scream.

"WHAT THE HELL?"

Murdock was already moving, racing into the fray, shouting something in an unfamiliar language. Face followed quickly, but stopped short just inside the door. He needed to pause to fully appreciate the pure pandemonium taking place.

The garage was one of the smallest he had seen, and was made smaller by the piles of junk of every description. The Van hunched in the middle of the mess, wedged in between a battered dresser and a stack of crusty paint cans. (And, Face would never forget the look on B.A.'s face as he carefully maneuvered his Baby into the sad little space; one part rage, two parts embarrassment). Face had "acquired" the simple farmhouse for Thanksgiving as a small gift to Murdock; he hadn't been thinking of garage space during his scam. (Can't please everybody).

Face barely noticed the cramped space right now; barely saw B.A. and Murdock confronting each other or the forlorn Van clinging to her dignity. He couldn't take his eyes off the strange intruders.

"So, that's a turkey," he murmured to himself. He had never seen one in real life, just the occasional Kindergarten hand-trace or a stuffy looking print in a school history book (usually next to a picture of Ben Franklin, smiling smugly, a player among players). He had always thought (when he thought about turkeys at all) that they were mid-size brown birds, portly and sedate. These were… not. First, they were HUGE. The tops of the heads would rise to his thigh at least, and they bulked out, heavy and awkward, to a four foot wing span. And, they weren't brown, but a dirty white along their imposing bodies, feathers ending abruptly in naked, lumpy flesh colored an angry red along their necks and heads. He had rarely seen anything so alien or (sorry, Murdock!) ugly, and he found himself frankly intimated. How could anyone willingly go near such creatures, let alone defend them as Murdock was doing, was beyond him.

But, perhaps they weren't being shown in their best light. After all, they were running for their lives.

B.A. charged around the ridiculously crowded room, roaring furiously and making swipes at the surprising agile birds. Murdock kept one step behind him, clinging to the bigger man to slow the rampage and trying to reason with him at the top of his lungs. (Shouted diplomacy). The turkeys squawked continuously and leapt from pile to pile, instinct waring with genetics in their tiny brains; to fly or not to fly? Really, it was no question.

The noise was incredible.

"GET THAT DAMN THING OUTTA HERE!"

"Stop, B.A.! You're frightening them!"

"GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE!"

"I'LL FRIGHTEN 'EM INTO A PULP! THAT THING WAS ON MY VAN!"

"GOBBBLLEGOBBLEGOBBBLE!"

"She was roosting! You should consider it a compliment!"

"COMPLIMENT?"

"GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBBLE!"

"She recognized a kindred spirit in Baby! She was lending a understanding ear to another gentle soul in her lonely exile!"

"IT WAS ON MY VAN!"

"GOBBBLEGOBBBLEGOBBLE!"

"Baby was enjoying the company! Tea and sympathy! You never listen to her!"

"WHAT?"

"GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE!"

"You can't just use her and abandon her out here by herself! A little 'wham, bam, thank you, van'! She's a lady! She has needs!"

"More coffee," Hannibal demanded, suddenly in Face's ear. The younger man jumped in surprise (gonna put a bell around the old man's neck, damnit!), and Hannibal shoved his empty cup against Face's bare chest. For a moment, the lieutenant juggled two mugs (one still full) and his weapon, all the while trying to keep up with the action on the floor. Feathers floated dreamily through the cool air. It was almost pretty…

"DAMN BIRDS GOTTA GO!" B.A. waded past two broken vacuum cleaners and kicked over a trash bag filled with shoes, straining to reach the garage door button and extend the field of battle to the driveway.

"No!" Murdock leaped past him, in a feat of inhuman grace born of desperation, over a monstrous pile of bundled newspapers and a half-dismantled ceiling fan, to throw himself in front of the button. Arms spread wide, panting, he defended the exit, not even flinching when B.A. growled dangerously.

"You can't!" Murdock shook his head wildly. "They're not prepared to face the enemy! They've been persecuted for their lack of humanity and sentenced to death! They're political refugees and we have an obligation as citizens of this Land of Freedom to assist them in their time of need!"

B.A.'s hands clenched as he took one menacing step toward his opponent, ignoring the squawks and yelps behind him. "They're turkeys, fool! Should be in somebody's oven right about now!"

"They're emissaries of the Clan Meleagris Gallopavo! The only survivors of the Great Culling that killed their family!"

"I'm gonna do some culling of my own, if you don't get them outta here!"

"Sanctuary!" Murdock yelled defiantly, as B.A. took another step.

The captain and the corporal squared off with a mutual glare, neither giving ground, and, as much as Face not-so-secretly enjoyed watching these lover's quarrels, there was something more than feathers in the air here; something about the way B.A's shoulders bunched and Murdock's eyes narrowed clearly showed the stress and exhaustion of the last few weeks. Well, it must be time for Face to work a little verbal magic!

"Hey, guys, not in front of the kids!" Face smiled easily, nodding toward their 'guests'. Now that they weren't being chased, the turkeys were settling down, showing themselves to be only two rather than ten, like he first thought. One perched precariously on top of an ancient treadmill, while his mate huddled defensively in the seat of a tired looking rocking chair. They grumbled to each other in muted coos, and Face could just imagine the subtext ('well, I never!' and 'how rude!'). "I think you guys should set a good example and kiss and make up!"

He was only half kidding; now that the Team had gotten together as lovers, they had discovered a lot of the daily tension between B.A. and Murdock could be soothed by a warm kiss or some heavy petting. Dr. Phil maybe would babble about 'avoidance issues' and wouldn't approve of the 'method of transference', but Face, personally, had always preferred Dr. Ruth when it came to solving life's little problems.

"Fool can kiss my fist," B.A. snarled, not even glancing at Face.

Murdock bared his teeth in something that was definitely not a smile. "Contrariwise," he said pleasantly, "B.A. can kiss my a-"

"Captain."

And, there was Hannibal, Face thought with relief, finally stepping forward to do the colonel thing. Their commander generally preferred to let his boys settle their own differences, but one cup of coffee at 0500 was apparently not enough of a buffer against the madness…

B.A. turned quickly to Hannibal, needing an advocate. "There's gonna be turkey shit on top of my van!"

Hannibal breathed deep and summoned his reasonable voice. "The garden hose-"

"Turkey shit, Hannibal!"

Murdock waved off befouling fowl with an impatient hand. "That's not the worst thing that's ever been up there." Which was undoubtedly true, but Face didn't think this was a good time to remind B.A. of the Great Maple Syrup/Kitty Litter Incident. "A little fertilizer on the paint job ain't no reason to have someone's head chopped off, your majesty!"

Hannibal tried again. "B.A.-"

"Besides," Murdock's hands latched onto his hips as he tilted his head at an angle guaranteed to cause the maximum amount of irritation. "I thought you of all people would be sympathetic to the plight of a repressed minority!"

"Murdock-"

"Are you comparing me to a turkey?"

"ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU!"

Hannibal rarely needed to raise his voice; he believed his actions spoke for him (especially when he was holding an M-16). But this qualified as a special occasion. And, it certainly had the desired effect. All three of his men straitened instinctively to attention, ready to obey his orders. Unfortunately, they had to wait for the turkeys to calm down again after the unexpected shout, before they could hear each other.

As more feathers drifted to the floor and the startled squawks had settled to disgruntled murmurs, Hannibal fixed his pilot with a stern gaze. "Where did you get these birds, captain?"

Murdock shuffled his feet at his colonel's no nonsense tone, spreading the dust on the floor in an oddly mathematical looking pattern. Tackling B.A.'s temper was an easy aerobic workout, but facing Hannibal in full commander mode… "There's a little place 'bout two miles from here, sir. Saw it when I was out walkin' this morning," he said quietly. "Might call it a farm, if that weren't an insult to farmers. Billy ran down to look at their pond, and when I went after him for trespassin', I saw the shed. Smelled it first, really; smelled like rancid nightmares. I had to look inside…" Suddenly, he looked up at them, big eyes filled with a kind of sick wonder at the memory of that place. "It was filled with cages. Dozens of filthy cages, empty and useless, except the one on the end. Two last turkeys, stuffed into a cage built for one, no room to even hardly turn around… *Those people* could've used another cage, to give 'em a little space, but… No water, no food, nothin' but a note on the door that they were scheduled for 'processing' this morning." His look darkened into something almost dangerous. "I know what processing is. When they take out everything you are, and grind down the rest to a nice, bland paste, fit for general consumption." His hands clenched into determined fists. "I couldn't leave them behind!"

Face shot a quick, guilty glance at their "guests". He had been through the SERE training and knew how to capture, kill, and prepare his meals. But, here in the civilian world, he gave no more thought to where his food came from than any other complacent urbanite. Now, Murdock's passionate speech pricked his conscience; was it really necessary to keep the birds in such neglect? Didn't they deserve a little consideration before they were hauled away to slaughter?

Even if they were kinda freaky looking.

He studied his teammates; Hannibal was undoubtably moved by the captain's report, as was Bosco, though the dark man crossed his strong arms across his broad chest, and did his best to appear unimpressed.

"So, you stole them," he grunted.

Murdock's scowl would have done B.A. proud. "I *liberated* them! They were victims of injustice, incarcerated without legal representation, and subjected to cruel and unusual punishment! I was righting a universal wrong! The White Knight said-"

"You stole them," B.A. repeated loudly. "You went off on a tear after some fool turkeys, and, now we're gonna have the cops bustin' down the door!"

Murdock's expression darkened to genuine anger. "I know how to be careful, B.A.," his voice low and hands clenched. "We came cross country as the crow flies. No one saw us."

"How did you get them here?," Face asked as a distraction, needing to break the tension between his friends, but also out of real curiosity. Murdock couldn't have carried them; they were way too big…. And, Face had a wild vision of turkeys on leashes; a man and his birds out for a refreshing morning stroll.

Murdock tore his challenging gaze away from B.A. to soften at his friend's obvious concern. "Billy's part Border Collie, you know. He was happy to help with the roundup." He smiled slightly. "Yee-haw."

"Ain't no dog," B.A. muttered automatically. Everyone ignored him.

Hannibal looked at his pilot gravely. "You know we can't keep them, Murdock." It was just a statement of fact, but it needed to be said, for Bosco's peace of mind if nothing else. Murdock nodded firmly, relief beginning to blossom on his expressive face. The colonel hadn't said anything about returning the turkey's to that cold hell….

"Oh, I know we can't, Colonel! Ain't enough room in the back of the van for them, though Billy wouldn't mind sharing his dog-bed." His voice rose cheerfully above B.A.'s sputters of outrage. "I thought maybe Face could set them up with some new identities; some disguises and a good back-story should get them through the holidays with their feathers still attached!" And, he looked so God-damned hopeful…. Face had no idea what to say in response to such towering trust. Should he groan in frustration and throw the mugs at the wall in a half-hearted temper tantrum? Should he laugh uncontrollably, until B.A. had the pleasure of slapping him sober? Or, maybe he should just say "sure, buddy, no problem!" and walk back to kitchen to make another pot of coffee? So many choices…

"Fool! They. Are. TURKEYS!" B.A. was, as usual, determined to keep Murdock grounded in reality. "They got the muddy end of the food chain, and, yeah, that's a bitch, but there ain't no way-" The soft touch of warm, callused fingers on his arm stopped him abruptly, staring in amazement at Murdock's warm smile. Their pilot's courage still shocked them all, sometimes.

"Bosco," Murdock said softly, "I know we can only do so much. But…" He looked up at the other two, and Face staggered a little under the force of puppy dog eyes set at Max 10. "This is what we do, right? Help the helpless? Our avian brethren have escaped torment and the threat of execution and now need our assistance. You know, if they're taken back to prison, they'll just face the same cruelty and indifference. We can show them how to make the best of life on the run. 'Cause, they're fugitives now, just like us."

Face looked from his best friend back to the cause of their interrupted sleep. The birds certainly weren't acting like hunted criminals; in fact, they looked pretty damn cozy, snuggling down contentedly in the debris left in the aftermath of Hurricane B.A. If they just left the turkeys here amid the garden tools and bags of cast off clothes, how long would it be before the owners of the house even noticed? Two days? Two weeks? Tempting…

Face, remembering Hannibal's earlier request, absently handed the older man his own untouched coffee. "So, our 'clients' need to start a new life," he mused, wondering where to start; animals really weren't his 'thing'. There was no way they could simply return the birds when Murdock's back was turned; it wouldn't be fair, to the pilot or the turkeys, to take them back to a small, dirty cage and certain death. (And, Murdock would somehow *know*). Face was starting to resign himself to the fact that he was now concerned with the care and wellbeing of turkeys. Was this what it felt like to own a pet? Good thing Billy was so self sufficient.

B.A. grunted impatiently. "They're animals. Toss 'em out in the woods and let 'em be." It really was the simplest solution, Face silently agreed; turkeys came from the wild, right? They'd probably love the freedom of western Pennsylvania. But, Murdock was shaking his shaggy head before B.A. had even finished the thought.

"No, no no," he chanted, tightening his grip on the bigger man. "They've never been out in the tulgey wood. Never lain under the Tumtum tree, never gyred in the wabe. How can we leave them all alone when they don't even know how to make a proper cup of tea?"

"They've probably never been out of that shed," Hannibal agreed, glaring suspiciously at his new cup of coffee. "They have no idea how to find food or shelter." He paused, before adding mournfully, "Splenda?"

"And, fat-free half and half," Murdock confirmed the contents of Face's cup. He seemed to have gotten over his earlier indignation now that they were willing to help his charges. The pilot stroked his hand gratefully down B.A.'s arm, to twine his pale fingers in the darker ones. B.A. not only allowed this, he gripped Murdock's hand in return with gentle strength, instinctively giving the comfort the smaller man needed. He had heard in Murdock's voice what Face could see; two almost sleepless nights, a long walk in the cold dark, wrangling reluctant livestock, and his passionate defense of said livestock, were all catching up with their pilot. Murdock was crashing hard, leaning his head now against B.A.'s shoulder, while the other man glared down at him, exasperated and affectionate. "Don't you fall asleep on me, crazyman. I ain't carrying you."

"That's okay, big guy," Murdock murmured, eyes drooping. "We can just take the train." He turned his head and pressed an apologetic kiss against chocolate skin, whispering something afterwards that Face couldn't hear, but made B.A. force back a smile.

Well, that was one problem solved. Face was now free to grace Hannibal with his most challenging smirk, the one he saved for watching the colonel plan his way out of sticky problems set in ridiculous situations. "We can't take them back, we can't leave them here, we can't keep them, and we can't let them go. So, what's the what?"

Hannibal took a cautious sip of coffee and immediately grimaced at the flavor. Face huffed irritably; not everyone was blessed with Murdock's metabolism! But, before he could defend his low-calorie choices (again), Hannibal smiled easily at his men, the smile Face had mentally labeled years ago under 'Cake, piece of'.

"Oh, that's easy, lieutenant. The captain already gave us the solution." His smile grew under their anticipating stares.

"Sanctuary."

Under Hannibal's brisk orders, they threw on some clothes and scattered to their various tasks. Face hit the internet and found exactly what they needed not even an hour's drive up the road. He made an introductory call to the Godot Animal Sanctuary in Punxsutawney and found the cheerful woman who answered would be delighted to accommodate their unexpected clients. "Oh, we have a whole flock of Thanksgiving turkeys!" she sang happily over the frantic barks and baas fighting for dominance in the background. "Always room for two more!"

Murdock roused himself to make another pot of coffee and a quick 'first breakfast' for his understanding teammates, with a promise of a grand feast after their guests had gone. Hannibal and B.A. used the supplies found in the garage (which Murdock had renamed 'The Room of Requirement') to build a sturdy, if haphazard looking, cage for transport. B.A. also found a two-wheeled trailer to tow behind the van and carry the cage, because "no damn turkeys gonna be ridin' in my van."

When all was prepared, Murdock persuaded the birds with soft words and mysterious gestures to climb in, and then produced from nowhere a black marker to write the turkey's new names proudly on the top of the cage.

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," he announced, signing with a flourish. He nodded graciously at at the turkeys, and Face could swear the damn things nodded back. "Rosie and Gil for short."

"Classic," Hannibal beamed. "I like it."

Face laughed a little, trying to shake off the unnerving, sharp stare of beady birdie eyes. "I thought you were going to name them Tweedledum and Tweedledee."

Murdock looked at him gravely, brow furrowing in concern. "Those are pretty silly names for turkeys, Faceman."

Later that evening, Face was able to bask in a day well seized. Murdock and B.A. had taken the turkeys to their new home, a trip that had taken a good three hours, all told. Their absence left Face some well-deserved alone time with his colonel, which Hannibal had used to "debrief" his lieutenant (and, Face really never got tired of that old joke, no matter how loudly he groaned). The other two members of the A-Team had returned at about 0930; B.A. looking particularly mellow and Murdock looking particularly smug. When Face had taken his buddy aside to question and ensure all bird-related issues had been solved, Murdock explained that they had stopped in a quiet stand of trees on the way back and had "agreed to disagree", as he delicately put it.

Now, after a frantic morning and a chore filled afternoon (including cleaning the upstairs bathroom; why Murdock had one of the turkeys in the tub that morning, none of the others really wanted to know), the four of them sprawled in the borrowed living room, toasting themselves in front of a blazing fire. B.A. and Hannibal book-ended the small, tacky sofa, with Face and Murdock spread across the remaining space and half-oozed onto the floor, respectively. There seemed to be an unspoken need to touch each other as much as possible. Face lay with his head pillowed on B.A.'s bare chest, wallowing in that sculpted expanse, turning his head to lick a dark chocolate nipple, while one foot teased Hannibal's thigh, toes pulling gently at the fine hairs decorating rock hard muscle. His other foot was planted firmly on the floor, a willing prisoner to Murdock's greedy clutches. B.A.'s clever hands were kept happy, one twining with Hannibal's strong fingers along the back of the sofa, the other stroking lovingly through Murdock's messy hair, making the pilot arch and purr. He rumbled contentedly in answer, nuzzling in Face's hair, tracing one finger now around Murdock's ear and another finger along Hannibal's wrist, making the sensitive nerves quiver. Murdock had twisted himself in some impossible way, determined to massage both Hannibal's and Face's calves, while still craning his neck to worship B.A.'s thigh with open mouthed kisses. And, Hannibal touched them all, with feet and hands and all of his magnificent body, but mostly with his warm smile and devoted eyes. He could embrace them all in his formidable mind and hold them safe, if only for a little while…

Face sighed happily as Murdock's surprisingly strong hand moved to caress his foot. In just a few minutes, Face would lay his friend down on that colorful rag rug in front of the fireplace, and slip inside his welcoming body, making his pilot sing with pleasure. If, of course, Murdock could stay awake that long. When Face looked down past B.A.'s gentle hand, he could see his buddy's eyelids set at half-mast, and how Murdock's lips were slowing against dark skin. He never did get that nap in the afternoon, and now the long day was finally catching up with him. Oh, well, morning sex was good, too.

Hannibal followed Face's gaze down, and his eyes shone affectionately. "Time for good little pilots to be in bed," he murmured, reaching down to cup Murdock's nape in one dominant hand, enjoying the way the younger man bowed his head to allow his colonel more access. "I know you'll be up early again, putting the finishing touches on the Thanksgiving feast. You need a full night's sleep, before you spoil us tomorrow."

B.A. snorted at that, still a little irked at their unwelcome guests and the resulting chaos, even though Murdock had pitched in enthusiastically to help scrub the van until it gleamed. As far as he was concerned, animals should be either outside or on his plate, and only very rarely in-between. "You better be serving up regular Thanksgiving food tomorrow, and not tofu and lettuce," he warned, fingers still carding gently through thick hair. "I don't care what that woman said to you at the Sanctuary. We eatin' turkey."

"Turkey and all the fixin's," Murdock agreed dreamily, eyes fully closed now that Face's hand had joined the other two in reducing him to a happy puddle. "Got the bird at one o' those free range farms. He lived the good life before comin' to grace our table." His accent was thickening, even as his voice faded sleepily. "After seein' all those poor animals this mornin' I was thinkin' 'bout givin' our bird a proper burial, instead. But, Billy was so lookin' forward to the wishbone…"

"Well, we can't disappoint Billy," Face sighed luxuriously, arching now as Hannibal's other hand traveled up his thigh.

"Ain't no dog."

Hannibal's handsome face lit with a pure leprechaun smile, as the perfect opening presented itself. "I have often seen a dog without a grin, but never a grin without a dog!" he intoned dramatically.

B.A. groaned, rolling his eyes, while Face laughed and laughed. And, Murdock? He was already sound asleep, head pillowed on B.A.'s thigh.


End file.
